


A sky full of stars

by SeaMint



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Coldplay References, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, How Do I Tag, M/M, Minor Injuries, ain't a tsukkiyama fic without the freckle worship, aka gratuitous mention of yamaguchi's freckles, big bang references, minor injuries is just me breaking tsukishima's elbow for some Spice, why is coldplay references a tag sjhdbsjdkb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 17:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaMint/pseuds/SeaMint
Summary: He could be an astronomer, he thinks, the thought loud and overbearing and pulling him out of the music. He could lose himself like that, just staring and observing and making new things with the stars all over his best friend.Such a heavenly view.“Huh.” And there it is, soft and easy as it glides down on him. “I’m.” It takes a while, as it should, to decide if he likes Yamaguchi or if he is inconceivably, irreparably,inevitablyin love with him.or: tsukishima hears sky full of stars for the first time and realises he's in love with yamaguchi when he thinks of him immediately





	A sky full of stars

**Author's Note:**

> hello !! it's been a while since i've posted to the haikyuu tag skjdksd but i m back babey and i just wanna say i regret ever leaving bc ...... my bois ........ ya'll be thrivin on content round these parts....

He found out innocently enough, the realisation coming feather-soft and settling into his head like fog after new year’s. That’s it, the realisation, but it wasn’t exactly the beginning and he knows it like second nature, albeit only finding out today.

It starts with a song, as anything does for Kei. Awkward birthday rituals, the beginning of Christmas season, the alarm that wakes him up every morning. Of course it’d be a song, rhythmic and logical and perfect as the instruments come together like God’s puzzle. It’s one Yachi sent to him, though, with no words to accompany the link because sending it in and of itself is an invitation to listen.

So he does, puts it on repeat as he’s doing his homework on conics, because he knows he won’t pay attention hard enough if it were mixed in with the songs he’d committed to heart, and thus plays like white noise. What he’d expected though, was soft pings and a strum of a guitar, like the songs Yachi usually sends him, not a sudden hit of a chord on a piano that makes him jolt in his seat. Then english pours into his ears, forcing him to listen and match the words because Kei is nothing but stubborn when it came to such things.

The first line strikes him immediately. _A sky full of stars_, it says, and with a smile he thinks about Yamaguchi, face full of freckles that, yes, yes, looked like _stars_. Kei isn’t the most creative. 

But the song keeps going, plunging Kei deeper into lines of adoration. He wants to stand in his seat, almost, belt the lyrics along, make up melodies and scream his heart out. He would, of course, if it not for his own constraints and the people in his house. So he sits, homework forgotten, pencil tapping on the lacquered wood of his desk, twitching desperately for some sort of release for this newfound energy.

He’s almost abstract, floating in some limbo of nothing and everything as the song goes on, and with each line he thinks of Yamaguchi, and the stars that dust his cheeks, and arms, and legs, and torso, and back, and shoulders. If he looked at them hard enough he’d make new constellations. He could be an astronomer, he thinks, the thought loud and overbearing and pulling him out of the music. He could lose himself like that, just staring and observing and making new things with the stars all over his best friend. _Such a heavenly view._

“Huh.” And there it is, soft and easy as it glides down on him. “I’m.” It takes a while, as it should, to decide if he likes Yamaguchi or if he is inconceivably, irreparably, _inevitably_ in love with him. 

He decides not to decide.

* * *

Kei figured his recent revelation would kickstart a change in their relationship, drag him backwards into the water and hold him weighted to the sea floor. That would be a nice way to look at the moon, shining beneath the sea and reflected into the sky instead.

It takes a bit before he realises the moon is just derivative of the sun, and the world works in ways he doesn’t understand, but there’s no way it could shine beneath the sea without the sun reaching it there.

His _Feelings_ (because that’s what he decides to call them now) for Yamaguchi must be messing with his head, he concludes. There’s no way he’d forget something about the moon like _that_.

It’s morning practice right now, and they’re all taking a break. Yamaguchi’s gone to the bathroom, and Kei shuffles awkwardly, accidentally making eye contact here and there with his seniors. He decides to look down after he makes eye contact with Nishinoya, who winks at him before sprinting across the room and doing an aerial cartwheel because Tanaka said _“there’s no way you could do one, dude.”_

He looks down and blushes, because he sure as hell doesn’t want Nishinoya to see how cool Kei thought that was. 

Yachi walks up to him, then, clicking a purple ball pen mindlessly. She’s wearing black stars in her hair today. Kei purses his lips and tries to stop the song from wriggling into his head.

“Tsukishima-kun!” She greets, peering up at him with her wide, brown eyes. “How’d you like the song I sent you?”

“Yachi-san,” Kei acknowledges with a nod. “You’ve unknowingly turned my world upside-down.” That was a lie. In fact, the new piece of information is just that. New, the next piece of the puzzle, just another fact he’s learning. Right now, then, is a transition, accommodation, rearranging the other pieces to fit in the new one. It slots in perfectly with the rest of his logical life. But it’s nice to tease people, after all. That’s what he does. What he supposes he always will be doing.

“W-what?!” Yachi squeaks, and no one looks at her, because they’re already so accustomed to noise in this gym. Kei feels a bit guilty for picking on her. Maybe he’ll buy her another clip for her hair. “What do you mean, Tsukishima-kun?”

He knows he should tell her. He knows he _can,_ knows they’re already good enough friends for her to send some songs, knows how open and trustworthy she is, knows about her undeniable attraction to the acting manager.

He sighs as he sits down on the hardwood floor, spreading his legs out and rolling his water bottle at the edges of its bottom around the floor. Yachi follows, spreads her legs out, doesn’t look at him as she hums the song. _That goddamn song._

“It helped me realise.” He looks up, noticing the captain is still not concluding their break, and that Hinata was now lying with his back to the floor and Kageyama on his knees beside him, yelling at him. Yamaguchi’s still not back from the bathroom. Kei coughs and pushes up his glasses. “I… have feelings for Yamaguchi.” He looks over at Yachi, who’s staring at the tufts of Kei’s hair in thought. It’s almost offensive, how she didn’t seem surprised or how she didn’t turn red; as if this new information was just another math formula for her. Just another word. Just another fact of life.

“You’re not going to say anything?” He says, disgusted with himself. He could tell there’s a scowl on his face, or at the very least he looks displeased, because Yachi looks at him and _jolts_, immediately searching for words.

“N-no!” This was not the ‘turning red’ kind of way Kei was looking for. “I-it’s just, ah, I just… kind of thought you always did?”

That makes sense. Kei knew when he found out that it’s been going on for longer than that. He can’t quite pinpoint the exact time his attachment turned to attraction, but maybe he didn’t need to, because it came gradually, faded at the edges and extending to now.

So if he himself thought that, then why was he so irritated with Yachi’s simple statement?

He finds that displeased look on his own face again. By now his muscles don’t register that they’re doing it in the first place, like not knowing the smell of your own house because you’re so used to it that you don’t notice it anymore. Yachi, if she were intimidated, refuses to show it a second time.

Daichi calls them back and Yamaguchi trickles in through the main entrance. Kei and Yachi stand and go their separate ways.

* * *

He breaks his elbow. 

God, he’s so stupid, but Yamaguchi stared at him _like that_, and he forgot to raise his arms for a block. He gets one of those freak spikes directly to his face, and he’s still thinking about Yamaguchi as he falls back, fumbling for ground and everyone’s eyes are on him. He can feel it. Kei realises, much too late, that he needs to break his fall _somehow_, avoid a concussion, save himself the embarrassment, and as he turns to stretch his arm out he’s already on the floor, and his elbow is making his arm shake so much. The pain–the pain, he can’t take it. He’ll just keep lying down. He’ll just keep lying down. He’ll just keep lying down.

“Tsukishima!” Hinata screeches, and ducks (though he didn’t have to, at least not when Kei’s concerned) under the net, arms flailing as he falls into place beside Kei. Unwittingly, and much to Kei’s chagrin, Hinata grabs his right elbow, fingers pressing harshly (or not too harshly, Kei can’t quite tell) into the very point of his arm. Fire shoots up to his shoulder, burning and settling until it’s a blunt ghost of pain. He can’t help the cry of pain that escapes him. It’s just instinct, after all. 

He’s breathing heavily; he knows he is, clutching desperately at his arm and it adds more pain but it’s sort of good when it comes from him. Through the tears that form in his eyes (he’s not crying. It’s just instinct, after all), he lands on a very fuzzy Yamaguchi, and his eyes can’t really focus, and his heart is beating wild, and there’s a wildfire in his arm that refuses to go unnoticed, but Yamaguchi’s there, so he guesses it’s okay.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says quietly, and a head or two pops up beside him, staring down at Kei, but he can’t really be bothered to recognise who they are. Hinata’s slowly pulled away. 

“Hey,” Kei smiles, as if he didn’t just cry out in pain or fall flat on his back, and Yamaguchi furrows his brows like something’s wrong. To be fair, something is, what with him on the floor and the gym is silent and he has _feelings_ for his best friend.

“Can you check if he has a concussion?” Someone suggests, and he doesn’t. Kei knows he doesn’t. As far as he knows, this is just him and his elbow, and the goofy smile that’s overtaking his face like the pain in his arm is just from him looking at Yamaguchi knowing full well he has _feelings_.

Yamaguchi pushes away his glasses, nevertheless, and his fingers are on the skin around Kei’s eyes, pushing them apart and leaning in close, and it’s enough for his nearsightedness to register the freckles that dust Yamaguchi’s cheeks like a child going ham on sprinkles. 

“I gotta buy Yachi a new hair clip,” he says all of a sudden, because he can, and because Yamaguchi will remember before Kei passes out from the pain.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.” 

It’s getting hard to breathe, and the room feels stuffy, and Yamaguchi’s voice is telling him not to pass out, you fucking drama queen, but Kei’s tired enough, and the pain seems to subside as he drifts apart from the rest of them.

He breaks his elbow and it’s only morning practice. He woke up in the hospital and Akiteru has to drive him home.

* * *

_No volleyball._

Kei can deal; that’s what he tells himself. He can live without volleyball for a few months. For the most part, they’re done with the important things: tournaments, etcetera, etcetera, but that doesn’t quite explain the blood leaving his body and the numbness he feels when the doctor says it.

_No volleyball_.

He’s not sad, what the fuck, but why is he so empty all of a sudden? 

Anyway, he’s going to have to learn how to live without a dominant hand. Though it’s unfair, and he absolutely curses the universe, that he has to be rendered practically useless in most aspects. He can’t write notes, he can’t text quickly, he can’t play volleyball. 

_No volleyball._

He shouldn’t bring himself to care.

But he cares so much.

“No volleyball?” Yamaguchi asks, as they’re walking to the gym the next day. Kei doesn’t have to go, but the thought of not walking with Yamaguchi is unfathomable at this point in life. He’s shuffling through his phone, looking for a song to play for the rest of their walk. He’s gone for earphones today, since putting on headphones is a lot harder with only one functional hand.

“Nope,” he says, and his thumb lands on a particular song that makes his heart stop beating in his chest. “Yamaguchi.”

“Yeah?” 

“Have you heard this song before?” Kei asks, and plunges the other earbud into Yamaguchi’s right ear. He plays it, and the strong first hit of the piano doesn’t jolt him quite as much as when he’d first played it. 

“Ah,” Yamaguchi says thoughtfully, “No, sorry, Tsukki. I’m not very much into English songs,” he murmurs, then pauses. “Or EDM,” he adds after a while. 

“Okay,” Kei says, and Yamaguchi smiles at him. He broke his elbow just to stare at that smile, and he’s useless, and he can’t play volleyball. 

Staring at Yamaguchi again, with the stars that dust his cheeks and the twinkle in his eyes that makes Kei’s insides burn a thousand times hotter than when the universe first started expanding, he thinks it’s all worth it.

“Why are you going to practice?” Yamaguchi then says, and his smile drops and Kei’s insides burn out into ice age. “I thought no volleyball?” It’s unfair. The universe is unfair to him, because he broke his elbow, because he’s useless, because now Yamaguchi’s looking at him like Kei blew out all the stars in the universe. He’s not the one that can’t play volleyball. The void in his heart sucks in the rest of everything. Kei frowns, too.

“Do you not like walking with me?” He says, changes the topic, hopes to the gods out there that the answer is something he’d like, because of _feelings_ that he hasn’t decided the magnitude of quite yet.

“N-no, I just—” Yamaguchi stammers out. The pink on his cheek confirms what Kei’s known for a long time. He sighs, and Yamaguchi looks away.

“Don’t be like that, Tadashi,” Kei says, and Yamaguchi doesn’t seem at all phased with his first name rolling out of Kei’s mouth like that, but the red settling on his ears tells Kei otherwise. “It’s only a few weeks.”

Tentatively, Yamaguchi reaches for his left hand. He squeezes it lightly, and Kei knows the feeling is mutual.

* * *

He shadows Yachi for a while. 

Kei follows her around like a puppy on a leash, or a moth to a flame, and Yachi doesn’t seem to mind. They’re at it again, leaning against a wall and sitting with their legs spread out in V’s across them. She’s writing something on her clipboard, and, by now, he knows she’s doodling in the margins of her notes without the need to peer over. Yachi giggles after a while of moving her pencil in small, sketchy lines. Kei makes a noise akin to curiosity.

“Hinata-kun looks like those baby owls, don’t you think?” She says, and she shows him the drawing: a lopsided rendition of a fluffy little owl, feathers sticking out all over the place. He glances over at Hinata, animatedly celebrating with Kageyama, whose face is contorted into an expression that looks actually happy. He grimaces.

“Admittedly so,” Kei says quietly. Yachi hums and flips through her notes mindlessly. Kei knows she has something to say. “What is it?” He prods, knowing it’ll be the only way to get it out of her.

“It’s just,” she lets the pages she held up drift one by one downwards. Kei can see his own name highlighted in red. “I know what you were looking at before your fall.” Kei lets the air hang between them a bit. Yachi taps her pencil on the clipboard.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Yachi says, and turns bright red before she says the next few words. “And I know you’re in love with Yamaguchi and all, but it’s still inappropriate to stare at his butt like that!”

“I’m not—” Kei sputters, and he’s unsure if he should correct her on the being in love part or the staring at his butt part. “I–I wasn’t—_Yachi-san!_” 

“Sorry!” Yachi exclaims, and buries her face in the clipboard. Kei doesn’t know why his heart is pounding. They sit in silence for a bit, trying to calm down before Yachi says something else. “And, if you don’t mind, why are you here?” She says finally, and Kei’s glad this has nothing to do with Yamaguchi.

Kei glances over to him, nevertheless, off to a wall and practicing his serve. He can’t hear the thud the ball makes when it lands square on the ground. “I’m… not sure.” This is just a club, after all. He can live without it. He doesn’t have to watch everybody else play a sport he loved because his brother loved it. Why was he here?

Yachi’s shout of “Tsukishima-kun!” falls on deaf ears as Kei finds himself on the grass near the gym. There’s a tree above him. The sky is turning pink at the edges. He throws his not-broken arm over his face, because Yamaguchi’s right. He _is_ a fucking drama queen. Kei probably passed out that day because he’d stayed up all night listening to that fucking song and thinking about _this one guy_ that isn’t just some guy at all, and not because of how much his elbow hurt just by bending his shoulder. 

If he were buying Yachi a hair clip, he’s unsure if it’s to thank her or to apologise. 

There’s a wetness in his eyes. Kei doesn’t know why. It’s just a club, after all. The emptiness had turned into a dull itch he can’t quite scratch and it pains him to know that.

“Tsukki.” Of course. _Of course_ it’s Yamaguchi that’ll follow. To be fair, he’s surprised Yamaguchi doesn’t grab his collar now, yell at him for being a bitch idiot and a drama queen. But Yamaguchi doesn’t know what’s going through his mind, contrary to popular belief. He’s just good at reading Kei. And Kei was just as good at reading him. It’s a language they’ve mastered together, after all.

“Tadashi,” Kei regards him, and Yamaguchi’s hand clutches onto the one covering Kei’s face. Careful as they work, his arm is pulled away and his glasses are taken from his face. Yamaguchi’s thumb pushes at his eyelid again, but this time it swipes across. 

“Kei,” Yamaguchi amends. Kei opens his eyes, and this close he can see a blurred mass of dots on Yamaguchi’s hands. His thumb glints with the wet of Kei’s tears. “What’s gotten into you?

“I miss volleyball,” he says, and it’s easy to admit. Why wouldn’t it be? He’s telling Yamaguchi. 

Yamaguchi runs his hand over Kei’s forehead. The faint smell of sweat and leather fills the air. “I know, Kei.”

“Don’t work yourself too hard,” Kei says. _I won’t be around to check and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _goes unsaid.

“I know, Kei.” The smile in Yamaguchi’s voice does not go unheard, and neither does the latter part of Kei’s sentiment. He should know, of course. It’s a language they’ve mastered together, after all.

Yamaguchi doesn’t say anything after that. Doesn’t leave Kei’s side. Kei knows the _feelings _are mutual.

* * *

Kei has a rather silly run-in with a neighbourhood cat right before they enter his house. Silly, meaning, it kind of hates him, but he’d decided to reach out anyway. Perhaps he deserves the scratch on his hand, now, bright red and raised from the rest of his skin. 

Yamaguchi takes Kei’s hand in his and pokes at the new wound.

“’S what you get,” he giggles, voice soft and only for Kei. Within him, it feels like a million little things are welding together in temperatures he can’t quite imagine, and he wonders if a star is born in there somewhere. Impossible, of course, when Yamaguchi’s right there, with all the stars in the universe decorating him like trophies. 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” he bites back with no bite at all, and Yamaguchi turns his eyes up and he’s still smiling, and god, if Kei didn’t already have these _feelings _for him, then he’d punch himself till he did. 

“Sorry, Tsukki,” he amends, and drops his hand. Kei almost mourns the loss. 

“I should wash this,” Kei grits through his teeth, the slight stinging of the scratch itching a little. “C’mon.”

Kei pulls Yamaguchi through the gate and into the house, announcing their arrival to his mom and Akiteru, who ruffles their hair and makes small talk with Yamaguchi. 

“Tsukki got scratched by a cat outside,” Yamaguchi snickers without much prompt, and Akiteru takes Kei’s hand without much permission, much to Kei’s chagrin. Akiteru clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Go clean that up,” he instructs, and Kei rolls his eyes because _he was just about to do that, dammit,_ and now he kind of doesn’t want to. “You need help?”

Kei glares. “I can do things m—”

“I’ll do it,” Yamaguchi interrupts, and Kei is less irritated at the prospect of help, because Yamaguchi’s hand is on his again, and Akiteru gets off his back, and his mom is still making dinner. Yamaguchi pulls him through the house, and it’s kind of nice knowing it’s second nature to him by now.

“You can’t do things yourself, Tsukki,” he hums when he opens the bathroom door. “You can’t even cook instant noodles without help anymore.” 

“You sound like this is permanent,” Kei laughs smugly, and Yamaguchi’s smile doesn’t falter as he runs Kei’s hand under the tap. The water is cool on his skin, but Yamaguchi’s hand is warmer. Bent over the sink, he realises Yamaguchi is right, because he can’t quite reach over for the soap and scrub the back of his hand with his arm held to his side with his sling. 

“It’s 4 weeks, dude,” Yamaguchi replies, and the soap stings as he rubs it over Kei’s hand. “Hinata’s going to bug me for weeks about how much of a dumbass you are.” 

“It wasn’t me who spiked the ball into someone else’s face.” Yamaguchi laughs, then dries the back of Kei’s hand with a towel. He opens the cabinets above the mirror, grabs the first aid kit, and pulls out the antiseptic and the cotton swabs. Kei holds still, watches Yamaguchi go over the scratch gently. His hand is so warm. Whatever stars that formed inside Kei burns brighter and closer to oblivion. Yamaguchi looks back at him. Kei smirks.

“All that’s left now is for you to kiss it better,” Kei jokes, and he half wishes he weren’t. Yamaguchi doesn’t seem to take a hint. Or he does, just goes along with it because that’s what they do.

“I’m not kissing that,” Yamaguchi grimaces, face wrinkling and his freckles move around and cluster together where ends meet. Kei wonders if redshift applies there, too. “My lips might turn yellow.” 

Kei doesn’t say anything. They both go to his bedroom and sit on his bed. Yamaguchi doesn’t say anything as he does it, takes Kei’s hand in his and presses his lips to the knuckles and something explodes in Kei; galaxies, maybe, the creation of anything and everything yet to develop. They both burn red, Kei knows, because when Yamaguchi feels something it’s a performance for all the world to see, and himself, because Kei knows himself enough to recognise when his ears are prickling in warm hues.

He feels so stupid. Yamaguchi is holding his hand with both of his now, running his thumbs across the back like comfort. He burns brightly, and Kei supposes it’s right for him to, considering he’s probably one of those things the universe had planned from the beginning, not a product of stardust but stardust itself. Kei wants to stretch this broken arm of his, run his fingers through the stars on Yamaguchi’s cheeks, because surely he’d asked for them in a past life, and in exchange the universe would be cold and unforgiving. It’s worth it, of course.

He wonders when he’d decided.

* * *

It happens when they’re walking home. The sky was pink and purple and _beautiful_, and Yamaguchi is suggesting they stop by somewhere because god, he’s hungry, and that’s okay, right, Tsukki?

“Yeah,” Kei says, because why wouldn’t it be? “It’s fine.” Yamaguchi shuffles on his feet, readjusting his bag as his hands fiddle inside it. He’s looking for something; his wallet, presumably. His face falls and Kei wants nothing more than to kiss it better—

Oh. 

That can’t be good.

“Never mind,” Yamaguchi says. He slings his bag over his shoulder. “I forgot my wallet at home.”

“It’s fine,” Kei says, dumbfounded. He walks forward, goes ahead of Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi follows, like he always does. “I can pay for yours.”

“Really, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi jogs up next to him, and Kei nods. Kiss or not, his face is stretched wide with his grin, beautiful and genuine as he stares up at Kei. This is why he broke his elbow. This is why he’s practically useless. The galaxies inside him buzz with anticipation. He doesn’t blame Yamaguchi.

How could he, when Yamaguchi is dusted pink and purple and he’s dark against the pastel sky? Kei doesn’t want to say what’s on his best friend’s face are dead stars, dark against his skin and not bright and twinkling as stars should be. They’re not dead, rather, asleep, and Yamaguchi’s skin was the heavens they were hung onto. 

It’s time, he supposes, that he broke the one rule in their friendship. To let the unspoken be spoken, and to clear the air before any more of their _feelings_ stuff the atmosphere like cotton.

“Yamaguchi,” Kei mutters, and he’s strangely calm about everything. It’s nothing like those movies and books and shows and comics that Yamaguchi’s been shoving into his face since they were kids. His heart doesn’t threaten to pound out of his chest and lunge at Yamaguchi. It seems to settle, more so, like it knows it’s where it’s meant to be at this moment in time.

Yamaguchi looks at him again, eyes a bit wider and curiosity written all over his pursed lips, and Kei knows why it’s nothing like the movies. “Yes, Tsukki?” 

“I…” Kei finds himself pinching the seam of Yamaguchi’s jacket. Neither of them acknowledge it, locked into each other’s eyes and breaths held as Kei rewrites their dynamics right before them. “I think I like you.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes drop. He moves his arm, the one Kei’s hung onto, and Kei lets go. He’s still strangely calm. Yamaguchi jabs Kei’s side with a soft laugh.

“No,” he says flatly. “I’m not accepting that.” 

Kei’s eye twitches. “Why?”

“Be more sure of yourself,” Yamaguchi says plainly. “For once—for _me._” He looks up again, brown eyes boring into Kei’s with how big and vulnerable they were. “Please?”

“Okay,” Kei says. With his unbroken arm, he reaches out and grasps at Yamaguchi’s fingers. The warmth is assuring, and Kei thinks he could hold these stars forever, if Yamaguchi would let him.

“Tadashi.” Kei’s decided. He knows he has. He doesn’t quite know _when_, because the moment blurs at the edges and spreads like ink in water. It’s the glow of stars in the night. “I'm in love with you.” 

His hand finds itself at the base of Yamaguchi’s neck, and the strands of his hair tickles Kei. Yamaguchi lets Kei pull him in, wraps an arm around his neck, too, lets his other hand wander around Kei’s hair.

Yamaguchi’s lips against Kei’s is soft and sweet, and when they pull away Kei’s coming back for more, kisses the stars on Yamaguchi’s cheeks, on his nose, and that small one on his eyelid. Kei thinks he’ll kiss each one of them, even if it takes forever. He’s willing to. It’s worth it.

_It’s such a heavenly view._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading !! please leave kudos or comments :>> i'd appreciate them a lot
> 
> say hi on tumblr ! i'm [@quipcrly](https://quipcrly.tumblr.com/)


End file.
